


Remembrance

by Yessica



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A whole lot of angst, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Papyrus Has Issues, Papyrus Remembers Resets, Papyrus-centric, Suicidal Ideation, based on head canons, character exploration, with a dash of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:50:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6886309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yessica/pseuds/Yessica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus remembers things.</p><p>He remembers being king of a desolate and empty underground.<br/>He remembers a house on the surface with a bright blue door and a bright red car.<br/>He remembers the sharp sting of a knife slicing through his vertebrae.</p><p>Papyrus remembers all these things. Sans doesn't know. No one knows.</p><p>And he'll keep it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He still believes

* * *

He wakes up, and stares at the ceiling.

The room is dimly lit, an intricate play of light and darkness against his walls, casting shadows upon the furniture.

It looms down on him, a mockery of his plight, returning over and over to that same point in his existence where it seems as if everything can happen, but nothing ever does.

Not truly anyway.

He heaves a small sigh, trying to cease the trembling in his limbs and regain the power needed to climb out of bed and begin the new day, that isn't actually a new day at all.

Just an old one, beginning anew.

Everything feels slightly disconnected, unreal and unraveled.

He savors it, closes his eyes and reaches deep within himself to cherish the grief and disappointment. Because he knows that if he ignores it now, it will only grow, until it overtakes him at a less convenient time.

Better to allow it to run its course when there is no one around.

It breaks him inside, a spiderweb of cracks running down the imaginary edges of his resolve and overflowing into his empty eye sockets, filling them with tears nobody will ever see.

It hurts.

This time, he thought he had done everything right. This time, he was sure it would last.

His frame crumbles in onto itself, burying into the blankets and collapsing under the immense pressure of expectations.

Maybe he should have-

No. He stops that train of thought before it even leaves the station.

Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what he should have done.

10 more minutes. 10 more minutes and then he drags himself out of the proverbial pit he has allowed himself to sink into, brushes himself off and plasters a smile back onto his face.

This time will be the one. This time, he will do everything right.

He still believes.

* * *

Sans is always so desperate that first day, all hollow smiles and averted gazes.

Papyrus knows it's been a rough one for his brother. Because it had been a surface one, where they experience the sun on their bones for the first time, all over again. Papyrus knows he misses the stars.

They fall into the pitfall known as hope, hands grasping feebly at the last recesses of their sanity and trust.

Maybe this time?

It falls apart again.

Papyrus makes sure to appear even more content than usual, all japes and smiles.

He makes a pun, one that he has told Sans countless times over on days just like this, days exactly like this.

His brother's grin pulls up slightly, amused.

Papyrus is satisfied. If nothing else, at least he still has this.

Because for all that Sans is amazing and cool and smart, he is also... individualistic.  
He thinks he knows everything there is to know about the world. He thinks he is the only one who remembers.

It is easy for Papyrus to deceive him, make him believe that he is still his precious baby brother, the image of purity itself.

He asks Sans to read him a bed time story, even if between his overzealous nature and the nightmares, he barely even sleeps.

"What's a lab?" He asks, hearing the little sigh from his sibling, fondness and exasperation that signal Papyrus is doing a good job at keeping Sans fooled.

He is an excellent actor. He can lie through his tightly clenched teeth, keep an impassive face while his insides churn with negative emotions.

As long as he can keep his suffering from his brother, he will keep smiling.

* * *

The first few days are always the worst, that intangible period between the reset and the human actually arriving in the Underground.

He uses the time span cautiously, to further build up the image people perceive of him.

They see Papyrus, the adorable little brother. Papyrus, the oblivious, silly skeleton with an ambition to become a royal guardsman. Papyrus, the naive idiot.

They see what he wants them to see. They think they know him, got him all figured out.

There is no depth to his character.

Sometimes, he calls himself 'The Great Papyrus', a persona he builds for himself.

Like a hero, that will swoop in and save the day.

Ironical, because he's not great at all.

He is nothing. Just a side character in a ever-repeating theatrics performance that constitutes for their lives.

But he can do everything in his limited ability to maybe somehow make things right.

* * *

He doesn't want people to care.

He doesn't want to make it harder on them than it has to be, when he dies.

Papyrus doesn't have friends. They may see him as such, but he can't allow himself to view them that way.

Because he is a fraud.

Sans asks him to come with him to Grillby's, but he refuses, making up some petty reason like grease and work and whatever excuse he can get his hands on.

He's lying, of course.

But anything is better than to go there, sit between the warmth and the camaraderie, the smiling faces and the amiable atmosphere.

He doesn't deserve their kindness.

He can be what they need him to be. Encouraging. Positive. Ultimately believing in the good of everyone and everything.

And it's not even completely an act.

Because he is all these things.

But it's easier from a distance.

Up close, he will show through, like paper stretched too thin, unraveling at the edges.

The uncertainty that lies beneath. The restlessness.

Nobody must know.

So the solution is simple. Papyrus can't let them get too close.

If his loneliness is the price to pay for other people's happiness, then he will gladly lay down everything he has and call it a deal.

He has no friends.

It's better that way. They should not mourn him.

Forgettable.

* * *

When the human comes through, it's harder.

Papyrus needs to weigh every word, measure it twice.

A lot of the times, he realizes he's contradicting himself. The human probably noticed by now, but they're not saying much. They never do.

In a way, Sans is the perfect distraction.

His brother is very... dramatic. Full of thinly veiled threats and cryptic messages, showing off his powers as if they were nothing.

It makes it even easier for Papyrus to fade into obscurity. His oddities get overlooked, misinterpreted as just another quirk of his juvenile personality.

Everyone is so focused on Sans, Papyrus has no trouble being invisible.

Sometimes, it gets hard to keep track of which persona he is upholding.

There is so much he knows, and so much he acts like he doesn't. So much he likes and so much he hates, but not consistently.

Sometimes, he doesn't even know where the real part of him ends and the pretending begins. Somewhere lost under layer upon layer of lies and deception, carefully crafted to assure everyone's happiness.

He doesn't know who Papyrus is anymore.

He tells himself it doesn't matter. As long as he is who people think he is.

* * *

The child shambles, their clothes covered in dust. They leave a trail of death in their wake and ignore his puzzles, lifeless eyes set upon an invisible goal on the distant horizon.

Sans gets all nervous and jittery, like he does. Papyrus acts all oblivious and good-hearted, like he's supposed to.

His brother does not beg him to stay this time, which is a relieve. It makes it easier for Papyrus to go out and meet death.

Like countless times before.

'Maybe this time' he keeps telling himself. 'Maybe this time'.

He's pretty much desensitized to it by now. Dying, that is.

It fills him with a certain emptiness that is known to him and him alone, that scares him on the most primal level.

Because if you don't care about dying or living, haven't you pretty much stopped caring about anything?

But Papyrus knows this to be untrue. Because he does care. Just not about himself much anymore.

The glint of the knife is familiar to him, and he has to forcefully rein his magic in, not quite able to keep it from heightening his defenses.

A part of him doesn't want to die. Part of him is frightened all over again, every time.

Sometimes he wonders what would happen if he just fought the chain of events for a change. If he just gathers up his powers and-

He could never do that. He could never hurt them.

Instead, he waits with open arms.

Waits for the pain, waits for the almost elated feeling he gets when the knife plunges through him.

"I still believe in you." He says.

And it's true.

He still believes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm will be posting more chapters to this. Not a consistent story, but just more scenes taking place in this AU/headcanon.
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr: http://sharada-n.tumblr.com/
> 
> I love discussing HC, theories and such.


	2. Nights like these

Sans has a lot of nightmares.

Papyrus has become adapt at predicting when his brother is going to have a rough night and knows how to act accordingly.

Nightly terrors are a regular occurrence for the older skeleton, but always seem to plague him more severely at certain times as opposed to others.

The short period right after a reset, when all memories of the previous timeline are still fresh and aching, like an open wound, for example.

Or right after the human has left Snowdin, continuing their travels through the Underground.

It are those times that Sans stays up late, shuffling around on the couch, idly opening his books and staring at the pages without ever seeing anything.

His pupils flicker, almost unnoticeably, leaving the hollow eye sockets behind them dark and empty for a split second.

Papyrus notices, as he notices a lot of things.

Those are the nights that he actually stays in bed after Sans reads to him, but instead of sleeping, as he already so rarely does, he stays awake, staring at the ceiling.

It usually doesn't take long, before he can hear muffled sounds coming from the other room.

It takes a lot of willpower for him not to seek his brother out, go and wake him from the throes of whatever terrible dream Sans has found himself in this time.

But Papyrus doesn't, instead gripping the blankets tight and counting to a hundred in his head.

Because his older brother doesn't like it when he goes in his room. It's where Sans hides his less important secrets.

The more important ones are safely locked away in the room behind the house, that Papyrus isn't supposed to know about.

He knows, as he knows a lot of things.

The door creaks open, a small strip of light piercing the darkness.

Papyrus pretends to be asleep, turned away from the door. He has become an excellent actor over time, but always finds it hard to stay still.

It doesn't come naturally to him.

Luckily, Sans is usually too distraught to notice, hands still trembling in anxious nervousness as he slips inside, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

Papyrus waits patiently until his brother crosses the room, pausing by the bedside for a few seconds before slipping under the blankets next to him.

The race car bed is small, not made for two people, and Sans bumps into him while climbing in, prompting Papyrus to 'wake up'.

He turns, movement made difficult by the invasion of his personal space, contorting his face into a look of mild confusion and squinting into the darkness.

Sans doesn't say anything, just clasps onto him, tiny hands grasping almost painfully at is humorous, legs tangling into his automatically, like puzzle pieces.

They fit together.

Papyrus retaliates the gesture, holding the smaller skeleton close to his chest, rubbing soothing circles into his still shaking brother's back.

Sans doesn't need to talk, for him to know what dream it was this time.

It is curious. Papyrus has stopped being bothered by his own demise a long time ago.

Systematic desensitization, his mind ever so helpfully provides for him.

Papyrus has learned not to fear death anymore.

But his brother is still affected, every time as much as the previous one.

Sans clings, as if trying to reassure himself his little brother is still there, alive. He never wants to let go.

But in the end, they will have to.

Because they are just pieces in somebody else's game. Side characters.

They have a defined set of variables upon which to interact, a role to fulfill in the story, a part to play.

Not tonight though.

Tonight, Sans bumps their foreheads together and murmurs how afraid he is to lose him and how much he loves him.

Papyrus tells him he's being silly, that he just had a bad dream, that everything will be alright and there will be no dying.

He lies, as he lies about a lot of things.

But Sans seems sated, nodding against his brothers collarbone and slowly relaxing again, only slightly loosening his hold.

The room is dark and silent, air heavy with doubt and deception.

Papyrus promises Sans he loves him too.

It feels refreshing to speak the truth for a change.

* * *

Papyrus doesn't have a lot of nightmares.

He remembers he used to have them, as a child.

He would wake in the middle of the night, mind filled with unsettling imagery.

He would rush to his brother's room and shake him awake, rambling about an ever expanding darkness out to consume him. About hands with holes that grasp his skull and scratch his bones, talking in a voice that sounds like screeching machinery.

Sans would pull him into his bed and hold him until he stopped crying, talking soothing nonsense that doesn't mean anything, until they both fell asleep like that.

Papyrus wishes he could still do such things, as he wishes a lot of things.

But, alas, he is not a tiny baby bones anymore.

The nightmares faded away with age, but have come back with a vengeance ever since...

Well, you know.

He can't go to Sans anymore.

He would ask questions, and Papyrus would have to come up with excuses.

He can't explain the images that haunt him in the night.

Undyne's dust slipping through his fingers, the guilt consuming him as he let the child cross into Waterfall in the first place.

A crown, heavy on his skull, threatening to crush him with the responsibility, while he looks out over a dark and dull kingdom full of hopelessness.

A tiny golden flower, smiling at him with jagged teeth and whispering he's his favorite, as the pressure around his bones increases, vines grinding into him until everything simply snaps.

He can't explain these things to Sans, because he can't justify them without lying.

And he can't add even more falsehoods to his ever growing list of deceptions.

He already feels like he's chocking, thread after thread of untruths he spins for himself, wrapped around every limb and making it impossible to move.

He can't pull too hard, can't start unraveling the ties he caused himself. Because if he does, the entire thing would threaten to collapse, and everything he works so hard for be undone.

Instead, when Papyrus wakes up terrified and shaken to the very core, he unsteadily climbs out of his bed and hides inside his closet.

He's painfully aware of how childish and cliché it is, but it's the only place in the house where he can be sure of his privacy.

And the wooden interior does a lot to soundproof his involuntary sobbing, gloved hands clasped tightly against his mouth to muffle the noise.

Papyrus suffers alone, as he should.

He can stay in there for hours, feeling the neatly hung clothes brush against the back of his spine.

'A skeleton in the closet' he considers mirthlessly, trying not to fall apart completely and failing miserably.

He's sure Sans could see the humor in it, if he ever found out.

Which he won't, as Papyrus will guarantee.

But maybe the human will like it.

They seem partial to puns, sometimes.

It takes a while, but eventually Papyrus feels like he can breath again, gathering up the shattered pieces of his fragile stability.

He goes to the kitchen, seeing as there is no use in trying to sleep anymore after such an episode, and starts on an early breakfast.

When Sans finally comes down, rubbing the sleep from his eye sockets after a decent nights rest, Papyrus can continue with his act.

Pretending to be ignorant and carefree, as he does.

And maybe skip another few nights of sleep. Just in case...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the positive feedback. It really makes me happy!


	3. Red on Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The possitive reactions to this fic are overwhelming and fill me with determination...

"Why do you still come here?"

"Because I'm your friend, of course."

He brushes his fingers against the soft pellets, carefully, as if it could still feel pain. As if it could still feel anything.

Red against gold.

Complimentary colors, Papyrus thinks.

"I will hurt you again." Flowey says, and it's not so much a fear as it is a fact.

"I know." Papyrus answers, smile not faltering.

"I will kill you again." But the threat sounds empty, hollow, like the person who uttered it.

"I know." The skeleton shuffles closer, knees digging into the dirt beneath them.

Flowey grins madly at the backwards instinct. A prey baring its throat to the predator.

He brings up vines to wrap around the proffered neck. Around the shoulders, arms, chest-

Pulls them tight, grinds the bones together.

Papyrus doesn't make a sound, even when the hold gets uncomfortable, borderline painful.

Memories fill his head. Snapping bones and a cracking skull, the taste of his own marrow filling his mouth. Pain so sharp it blinds him.

Thanks to Flowey, Papyrus knows what the inside of his femur looks like.

But today, it stays like that. Tight, aching, but not breaking any bones. Not yet.

So he turns his hands, palms facing up, and folds them over the vines, fingertips touching lightly.

Their demented version of holding hands.

"My training is going really well." Papyrus quips.

Flowey doesn't say anything, but bends his stem. He's listening.

"Undyne says I'm getting better every day. I bet it won't be long before I'm let into the guard now."

"Hmm, I guess you're very strong." The flower hums, caressing a boney cheek.

He wonders about the reaction he would get if he plunged a vine into one of those eyeholes. How Papyrus would cry out in surprise and writhe in pain. But he refrains.

Maybe later.

"Too bad you won't ever reach your full potential if you keep being so stubborn about killing." He says instead.

Papyrus gives him a look that is almost scolding in nature. Flowey exults in it.

Everybody he encountered since becoming like this has only ever looked at him with equal measures of fear and pity.

Even his own parents. Especially his parents.

Everyone, except Papyrus.

"I think you're wrong." The skeleton says, and there is so much conviction in his expression that Flowey feels like he has to turn away.

"Of course you do." He answers, tone sharp. "You're an idiot."

Papyrus pouts at him, brow creased, and he looks a bit deflated.

"But you're pretty amazing too." The flower adds, almost as an after thought, and the huge grin instantly returns.

Flowey doesn't deserve that smile, but he revels in it none the less.

"Do you really think that?" Papyrus asks, straightening a bit.

"Of course I do." and it's not even a lie.

Papyrus truly is amazing.

Countless times, Flowey has broken him. Both in body and in mind.

Sometimes, he does it sharp and sudden, like ripping a bandage off an open wound. Shock-value.

Sometimes, he prefers to draw it out, soaking up the broken sobs and pleas telling him he doesn't need to be this way.

And every time, when it's all over and Flowey gets bored again, returns to his starting point to think of some new torture to inflict on his playthings, Papyrus comes back.

Seeks him out, to offer up his friendship. His compassion. His soul.

They do it again. Again. And again.

No two times are the same. Papyrus reacts differently each time.

He's so fantastically unpredictable. There is a reason he is Flowey's favorite.

"You're very amazing too, Flowey." The skeleton says, and his hands grip a bit tighter, as if resisting the urge to try and hug him.

Flowey looks for any kind of hesitation in the other's face. Even just a trace of reluctance or doubt.

He finds none.

"Golly." He turns his head away again, as if he's bashful about the compliment. In truth, he just doesn't want Papyrus to see he's lying. "You're just saying that because I'm your best friend."

"Yes! Uh- I mean no. I mean-" Papyrus trips over the words, brimming with excitement. "Yes, you're my best friend. But I'm not just saying you're amazing because of that."

If he still had a soul, it would probably be filled with warmth right now.

As it is, Flowey feels only sly amusement.

How lonely Papyrus must be, denoting him as his best friend, of all people.

"What about your brother?" The flower turns back, trying to convey just the right amount of curiosity in his gaze.

Papyrus falters. "S-Sans?" Again, the skeleton hunches in on himself a bit.

"Well, of course." The vines pull down slightly, making it easier for Flowey to see the other's face. "As brothers, aren't you supposed to be the closest."

Papyrus opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. There is a nearly invisible edge of uncertainty around his smile, that he normally wouldn't show to anyone.

The flower continues before he can respond. "Oh, right. He's not home much, always hanging out at that disgusting bar. Doesn't it get tiresome? Eating all by yourself every night?"

Papyrus snaps his jaw shut with an audible click, but still doesn't say anything. There is an obvious look of distress on his face now, and Flowey decides he can twist the knife a bit deeper still.

"Or the way he always treats you like you're still a child. It must be annoying to be lied to all the time, by your own family no less."

He looks up, trying to see the effect his words have, then stops.

The skeleton's expression has turned... grave. Angry, but not at his brother. At himself.

Flowey recognizes self-loathing when he sees it.

"I lie to Sans too."

Suddenly, Flowey feels... strange.

Not guilty. Not remorseful. Those kinds of emotions are not within his capabilities anymore.

It just doesn't feel as good as he thought it would.

The flower shrugs, as far as that is still possible with his body, and tilts the skeleton's head up again.

"Oh, come on, Papyrus. That's just the way family works sometimes." The way Papyrus looks at him just then, eager for approval. For assurances. It's downright adorable.

"My sibling could be pretty terrible at times, but I still-"

He cuts himself off. Talking about his life before always makes him feel empty.

Well, more empty than he already is.

"But you still love them, right?" Papyrus finishes the sentence for him, and Flowey looks at him slowly. He's smiling again, happy. Knowingly.

Why does Flowey just feel like he got tricked into revealing more than he intended?

"You're an idiot." But there is no more heat behind it. He tightens the vines some more, thinking about how easy it would be to end this now.

Papyrus grins at him. Flowey relaxes.

They can spend some more time like this for now.

After all, there will be plenty more runs left to play with his favorite.


	4. In this Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The king Papyrus ending is my favorite...

He sits admits the wilting flowers and watches them die around him.

Some timelines, he bothers to actually tend to them, spending hours on his knees until they hurt so much there is nothing else he can feel.

But this time, Papyrus can't bring himself to put in the effort. The human will reset soon anyway, and the garden will brighten again. Be alive again.

Just like his friends.

It's a perfect analogy in more ways than one.

Because he's here, watching them wither and doing nothing, just like he was then, watching the human destroy everybody in its path.

Except for him.

And it's not fair, he thinks, as he touches the petals and watches them fall limply to the ground. Slipping through his fingers like Undyne's dust did, back at waterfall.

But fairness has stopped being a factor in his life ages ago.

* * *

At least he can console himself with the thought that he's being an adequate king.

People are giving up all around him, which means he has to try twice as hard not to lose hope.

That wouldn't be very Papyrus of him.

Losing hope, falling down.

It might be easier, he thinks. Just for a moment, he savors the thought.

It would be quick. Painless.

And then he'd wake up in Snowdin again, without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But Papyrus knows he can never do that. Because Sans would remember.

Sans, who is already struggling hard enough to keep it together as it is.

Sans, who probably thinks the exact same thoughts from time to time.

Sans, who needs Papyrus to be the cheerful one more than ever now.

So instead of falling, he gets up.

He makes a near endless heap of spaghetti, even if the act of cooking it makes him physically sick with grief.

It's just penance for his negligence.

* * *

Papyrus doesn't like wearing the crown, but Sans tells him he must.

Something about it being a symbol of monarchy that inspires hope in their people.

And hope is in such short supply these days, that Papyrus feels like he needs to do anything to offset the balance.

Even if it makes him miserable.

It's a fair trade. His happiness against that of an entire kingdom.

If it were just his brother's happiness, Papyrus would still wear it. The trade would still be equal in his eyes.

He can pretend. He does little else these days.

He's not sure he knows how to be himself anymore.

And sitting in between the golden leaves, Papyrus wonders if he will need to deal with that someday.

If the human will ever stop their ceaseless game of whatever it is they're trying to accomplish, and just leave them be.

Maybe then, he can finally find himself again.

Buried somewhere underneath an endless heap of lies and deceit, suffocating.

Asses the damage and lick the wounds.

Be right again. Not broken.

But of course, Sans always told him it is silly to believe in unobtainable dreams.

* * *

He doesn't sit the throne though, not in the literal sense.

They drag the chair over to stand besides it's smaller twin, and cover it with a sheet also.

He makes up some threadbare reason about not liking to sit still, about wanting to move around freely.

Sans buys the excuse, mainly because he barely acknowledges it.

He barely acknowledges Papyrus at all these days, except to lie some more to him about what a great vacation their friends are having.

He tells himself that's ok. His brother is very busy running the kingdom after all. It wouldn't do for Papyrus to be selfish, impose on Sans' time.

He says that if anybody requests an audience, they can can share the flowerbed with him.

Not that anybody ever does.

If they want anything significant, they'll go to his brother. He's the one in charge of pretty much everything.

Papyrus is just here to stand around looking cute. Where had he heard that one before?

The thought twists his none-existent gut, and he dispels the memory quickly. No use thinking about those that have gone.

Especially when they don't stay dead.

So Papyrus sits in the empty throne room, bathed in light and surrounded by golden flowers and silence.

Sometimes, he reads one of Asgore's many books.

Sometimes, he brings a sketchbook and draws the high-arched windows and tiled floors.

Sometimes, he talks to the plants, just so he can hear a voice.

Sometimes, he just spends his time lost in thought.

And always, he is alone.

* * *

Let it never be said that Papyrus does not have a sense of humor.

He can appreciate the bitter irony his current predicament has to offer.

Because even in this timeline, where he has technically been appointed the most important monster in the underground, he will still be treated like a child.

More so than ever, in fact.

"Have you called Undyne today?" Sans asks.

Papyrus looks at him, but can't catch his gaze. "Not yet." He answers.

He knows Sans doesn't bring it up out of any particular malice.

On the contrary, the act of clogging up her voicemail with message after message of jumbled insecurities and despair is quite therapeutic. Especially since he knows nobody will ever hear them.

Papyrus always feels lighter afterwards, even if he knows it's a deceptive kind relief, that will come back tenfold afterwards, when the guilt hits.

He shouldn't complain. Not to her. She's dead, and he's alive, and for all the wretchedness that he feels, Undyne doesn't feel anything anymore.

He's so selfish.

But his brother only sees that first part, where Papyrus feels like he can breath again for a little while, and so he encourages the phone calls from time to time.

Sans doesn't realize that well-meaning lies can do more harm sometimes, than any harsh truth ever could.

Does he really think Papyrus is that ignorant? That he cannot grasp the meaning of death, when it basically happened right in front if his eyes?

Yet, his brother prefers to lie to him.

'Vacation' he says, like a parent trying to explain the absence of a beloved house pet to their 3 year old child.

And it's borderline ridiculous that he thinks Papyrus falls for it.

His friends would never leave without telling him. His friends would never ignore his calls for this long.

He tries to blame it on Sans' depression.

Surely his brother is just trying to do what he thinks is best for him.

Surely he's only trying to protect him.

Surely he doesn't _really_ think Papyrus is that stupid?

He refuses to consider that possibility, pushing it away and smiling at his brother instead. Just because there is little else he _can_ do.

But the thought lingers in the back of his mind, festering, even after the reset.

And it never quite goes away.

* * *

He sits admits the wilting flowers and watches them die around him.

The throne room is filled with light and life, the sound of birds chirping and the barrier softly droning in the distance.

Sometimes Papyrus stands before it and tries to catch a glimpse of the twilight.

Sometimes, he simply can't bring himself to move, lying still in the garden.

He's flat on his back and his vision is framed in gold, petals everywhere. He wishes he could drown in them.

He misses his friends. He misses the human. He misses Sans.

He wants to give up too.

The positions isn't very comfortable. It makes his bones ache, digging into the earth awkwardly. But the pain is a nice distraction.

"Papyrus, are you alright?"

He sits up. Petals cling to his clothes. Dead flowers everywhere.

"Of course, Sans." He says with a smile. "I'm just thinking about what fun our friends must be having on their trip."

His brother looks at him, nods his head tightly. Still doesn't tell him the truth.

Sans never tells him anything.

"I'm sure they're having a great time." He mumbles.

Papyrus wants to ask him if Sans wishes he'd gone with them, but refrains. That would just be cruel.

Instead, he stares at the garden.

"They're dead." He observes quietly.

His brother stiffens, lingering his gaze on the plants too.

"It's my fault." Papyrus says, then pauses a bit longer than strictly necessary.

It's almost funny, how they can talk like this. About the same thing, yet not about anything at all.

A dialogue of the deaf.

"I forgot to take care of them."

He gets up to get a watering can, notices the relieved little smile on Sans' face.

Papyrus waits until his brother has left, alone in the throne room once more, before breaking down.


	5. Cutting Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The betrayed Undyne ending.
> 
> The tags have been updated! Jup, things just got even more grim...

"Do you want to go out and-"

"No."

"Oh... ok." He shifts, braces his palms against the floor and clenches them in the carpet. Anything to keep himself from reaching out and actually touching her. She doesn't like that.

"Maybe we could-"

"No. Leave me alone." She says, and her frame becomes even more rigid.

He closes his eyes and tries not to cry.

"What do you want to-"

"I don't want to do anything. Go away."

Papyrus grinds his teeth, stares at Undyne's back, curled up on the couch, facing away from him.

Not looking him in the eye. Not looking anyone in the eye anymore.

Because the spark is gone. They're empty now.

"Ok..." He repeats, but doesn't move to leave.

Just stays, while the clock ticks loudly in the silence. Stays, while Undyne's body finally slumps into a restless sleep. Stays, when Sans comes home and asks how their day has been. Stays, wasting the long hours of the night away with idle thoughts.

When she wakes up and slowly turns around, every muscle protesting against the strain of the movement, he is still there.

Just like back then, what seems like ages ago. Papyrus is always there.

"Do you want to make breakfast together?" he asks.

She looks at him as if she can't quite believe he's still trying. But he is.

He knows how this works. Has been doing it with Sans for ages. In a way, Undyne and his brother are much the same now.

It's like handling broken glass, Papyrus finds. Fragile and cautious and cutting deep.

"Yeah... I need grub." She mumbles eventually.

He smiles.

* * *

The house is so much quieter now.

Papyrus is used to being alone. But here, without anything to distract him, it somehow becomes so much more tangible. More real.

The silence is suffocating.

He can't escape the tedium by taking a walk and checking his traps, because they are gone. The queen has ushered a mandate against them.

He can't go visit his captain and train for the royal guard, an aspiration that was mostly for show anyway, because they are gone. The queen thought them a superfluous organization.

He can't go online and talk to Alphys, because she is gone too.

Papyrus knows where she went. He tried to stop her. He always does.

It never works.

Just makes it hurt even worse when the inevitable happens.

* * *

"You need to give Undyne a job." Papyrus tells Sans.

His brother looks at him, empty eye sockets with bags under them. He is tired.

Papyrus is tired too, but he doesn't let it show.

He thinks about the times when he dies, or the times when they reach the surface.

This is somehow worse.

The human tears through their world, giving some and taking more, but ultimately leaving them behind to pick up the pieces. And it's never pretty.

Sans doesn't need to ask why Papyrus wants this. He knows, from first hand experience.

He knows what it's like to need something to keep you from falling down.

Sans has his ketchup and his visits to Grillby. He has his hotdog stand and his forever broken machine.

And he has his brother.

But Papyrus knows his own worth.

Sans can live without him. Probably has, several times over.

And he's not enough for Undyne. Not enough to keep her from slipping.

She needs more. A distraction. A purpose. Something that forces her to get up in the mornings.

Papyrus is not good enough.

He's just another disappointment in a long chain of inadequacies.

* * *

Papyrus needs a purpose too, and he finds it in his deceit.

He finds it in his act, upholding his image and expanding his web of lies. He finds it in the small sparks of happiness he can enlighten in those he cares for, by pretending he's carefree himself.

Even if these things simultaneously make him feel like he's fading away.

It's an interesting paradox, leaving him somewhere in between breathing and drowning.

The balance act of the century.

When he's busy ensuring other people's happiness, he doesn't have time to think about those kinds of things.

But when he's alone in the house again, Papyrus gets restless. The scales tip and suddenly he's standing on the edge of something dark and deep that he rather not contemplate.

He needs to occupy himself. Throws himself into work he used to enjoy, before-

He scrubs the floors until they are chipped and worn. He washes already clean dishes, over and over until the water is cold. He tries to rearrange his action figures obsessively, but his hands shake too much and they won't stay upright.

He functions on autopilot, body going through the motions it has memorized by now, while his mind is blissfully numb.

Just a few more days, he tries to tell himself. Just a few more days and it will be over. The human never waits more than a week.

There is a sharp sting, and when he looks down there is dust on his hands.

He carefully pulls back the knife, stares at where he missed the vegetables and cut his finger instead.

When he moves the phalanges, the wound widens and it shoots pain down the entire length of the bone.

It's the realest thing he has felt in a while.

* * *

"I'm sorry." Papyrus says. He says it a lot, even if the answer is always the same.

Undyne slumps against him, rests her head on his shoulder blade. They're sitting on the couch together, staring at the dark tv screen.

She pulled the cord out ages ago. There are only ever reruns of MTT on.

They don't watch those anymore.

It reminds her too much of-

"I don't blame you." she mumbles.

But Papyrus has spent too much time lying to people to not discern when he's being lied to.

Even if Undyne doesn't realize it herself.

And she isn't wrong, Papyrus contemplates.

It is as much his fault as it is hers.

He pushed her to befriend the human in the first place. If it wasn't for him, Undyne would never have extended her trust.

Because she is smarter than him.

The human's betrayal broke her. Papyrus broke her.

This knowledge kills him inside.

And he will do it all over again. Because he knows they have to.

* * *

Papyrus has never been more grateful for a reset.

Seeing Undyne like that is... painful. So uncharacteristically quiet. Void of life.

He tells himself it's simply because she's his friend. He doesn't like seeing her that way.

But there's a little voice in the back of his mind that begs to differ.

Because maybe it's more that seeing her like that feels a lot like looking into a cracked mirror.

Like looking at himself through the broken surface.

Seeing someone act so opposite of what one has come to expect of them.

Is that what he would be like, should he ever lift the mask? Would it hurt his friends as much, as it hurt him now?

Papyrus inhales, and resolves to never let that happen.

Even if the numbness threatens to become too much for him to handle at times. If he finds himself wondering if he can still feel anything at all.

He opens a drawer, sees the glint of a knife. Exhales.

Closes the drawer again, but keeps in mind that it's there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments, guys. Your suffering fuels me!


	6. Nothing Changes

The entire room is dark, lightened only by the harsh glare of the computer screen in front of him.

Had he actually eyes, they would probably be hurting from the brightness. He blinks and pulls his knees in more tightly, resting his chin on them.

<I'm doing ok-ish> she writes. <How about you?>

Papyrus sighs. Doesn't contemplate the answer, because he doesn't want think about it.

He has a default response anyway.

<I'm doing great, as always! ^_^>

The chair creaks loudly as he shifts. Normally, he would be afraid of the sound waking Sans, but his brother isn't home tonight.

Again.

It's getting worse. Across timelines, it's only ever getting worse. And it's interesting, because those that don't remember just regress after each reset.

Like reverting to their default save state. Like a video game.

But those that remember don't. They can only deteriorate. They can only slip further.

Every time Papyrus thinks this is it, they've finally hit rock bottom, he's proven wrong.

And he wonders if it will ever stop.

<Did you watch MTT yesterday?> Steering the conversation away from himself.

He stares at the small dots on the screen signaling Alphys is typing in a response.

He wonders what she looks like right now. In an equally dark lab, equally alone.

<Yeah! But forgot something, need to do that first. BRB =O.O=>

Papyrus smiles at himself. She didn't forget. She just procrastinated.

Alphys always puts off going down there until the very last second. He can't really blame her.

The... monsters that live beneath the lab, the lab which Papyrus is supposed to be oblivious towards, are a tad... off-putting.

But quite nice once you get to know them.

He has done so before.

<Ok, I'll be here when you get back!> He closes his eyes, allows the numbness to consume him.

Where else would he be.

* * *

The sun is bright. So excessively bright. Color everywhere like somebody splashed an entire array of paint on the world.

The underground could never look like this.

"Come on, Alphys, just a little bit more!" He practically yells, ignoring the few humans who turn their head at them and look with wary eyes.

Papyrus doesn't care.

He's on the surface now, and he's going to enjoy it. As long as he can.

The small yellow monster behind him catches up, huffs and puffs like a broken locomotive. She is red in the face and there is sweat dripping from her brow, but there is also a smile tugging at her mouth corners.

When Papyrus stops, Alphys runs right past him in her excitement. She halts, but keeps jogging on the spot. "W-What's-"

"We're here. We did it!" He sees the understanding dawn on her face at his words. Looking around as if seeing this place for the first time.

"W-We are?" Alphys laughs. "We are!"

"I told you we could do it in 10 minutes." The sun is bright, but not as bright as her smile and Papyrus thinks she should do that more often, but doesn't say so. Just grins back.

When she grabs his wrist her breathing is still heavy, but she swallows and looks him in the eye. "Thank you."

Papyrus just nods, commits it all to memory. He wants to remember this.

* * *

She is sitting on the bridge near Hotland. Her legs dangle off the edge, dark emptiness that lies beneath.

Papyrus makes sure his footsteps are extra loud. He wouldn't want to startle her.

"Hey..." he says as he sits down. Alphys doesn't look at him, eyes trained on the drop. The fall.

He wonders if she was planning to do it. Surely not. She's not supposed to, in this timeline.

But that's the problem, isn't it? These things can be horrifically unpredictable at times. Here, Alphys is supposed to live. But you never know.

The consistency of the timelines? Papyrus wouldn't want to bet his life on it. (actually he does bet his life on it. All the time.)

"How is she?" Alphys asks, and she still won't look at him. Papyrus wonders if she has been crying.

"Why don't you ask her yourself." The air is freezing. He feels it, but isn't bothered by it so much. Alphys looks cold though, with just her lab coat to protect her bare arms. Papyrus wishes that he could help.

"O-Oh, that's ok." When Alphys looks at him then, she looks so devastated. Embarrassed. Sad.

"I- I'm sure Undyne has more important things to worry about. I... I can't-"

She trails of into silence. Papyrus sighs.

He wants to tell her she's wrong. That she's important. That she's worthy.

"I-Is she still planning the war?" Alphys taps her fingers against the wood nervously, a fast-paced rhythm that Papyrus is sure he has heard somewhere before.

"I think so... I don't really..." He shrugs. Standing around and looking cute. Nobody ever asks for his opinion.

That's ok. He knows the war won't happen anyway. It will reset long before that.

But Alphys tenses, rubs a hand nervously down her arm. "I see..."

her face is cast in shadows as she stands up. "Ah- S-Sorry. I really need to do something important."

She doesn't even wait for him to say goodbye. Papyrus wonders if he will see her again this timeline.

Somehow, he doubts it.

* * *

She is dead. She is dead and so is Undyne and the queen and-

Papyrus goes into the lab. Goes into the elevator. The long way down, carrying assorted pieces of food he hopes they'll eat.

'It doesn't matter.' he thinks. 'They wouldn't stay dead anyway...'

But he can't. They are not like the flowers in the royal garden. He can't let them starve.

They come out when they sense a living creature. They make noises that sound like animals dying.

Papyrus feeds them.

"It's ok." He says, trying not to let their images burn into his mind forever, haunt his nightmares. But he knows it's too late.

Another reason not to sleep.

"It's ok. I'll take care of you until she comes back..."

* * *

He doesn't want to be envious of Alphys. He doesn't want to be envious of anyone.

But in the end, he still is.

"Why would she do that?" Undyne whispers. Her voice is hoarse from crying and her head is lying in his lap, empty eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I don't know." he says, brushing stray, fiery red strands of hair from her face.

But the truth is, he does. He knows exactly why.

Sometimes, it's just too much. Sometimes, you just need everything to stop.

And there is no more permanent way out than the one Alphys chose...

Except that, in their case, it's not permanent at all.

She wouldn't know this, of course. But Papyrus does and it makes him sick.

Even if he wanted to he wouldn't be able to make his suffering stop. His hands tremble and he starts braiding Undyne's hair slowly, hoping she won't notice his shaking.

No matter how bad it gets. No matter how hard he breaks. He won't be able to ever make it stop.

Death is not a solution for him.

A sudden stab of pain between his eyes makes him close his empty sockets.

His mind is filled with disturbing imagery. Hands with holes in them. A burning core of light that comes closer at an unsettling pace. He feels like he's being ripped apart at the seams, teeth clenched tight just to stop from screaming.

A voice that should not be heard. A name that can not be spoken.

A person who may have been important once, but now is barely an afterimage of what he was.

_Dark, darker, yet darker_

There is a permanent way out.

There is a way to escape. To not exist anymore.

To never have existed in the first place.

Papyrus shakes his head, rids himself of the invasive thoughts.

He's not that desperate.

Not yet.

* * *

<I'm back!> The little noise of his desktop wakes him up.

Papyrus rubs his eyes, vertebrae cracking back into position. God, he's so fucking tired.

<Great! What are you up to, anyway?> His fingers click against the keys. At least it keeps the room from being silent.

<Pffft, just random royal scientist stuff! :o It would bore you to death.>

<Maybe :p My brother really likes science though!>

<LOL! Tell him it's not as amazing as it sounds...>

Papyrus sits up straight, stares at the screen. This is new.

<Why do you say so?>

For the longest time, there is no response. He almost thinks that she has left, when...

<I've done some bad stuff in the name of science>

He waits, hovering over the keys. Doesn't want to answer too quickly. Doesn't want the pause to stretch on too long.

<We all do bad stuff. Doesn't mean we're bad people! /o.o/>

He's as taunt as a wire by now. Maybe she'll tell? Maybe she'll tell and everything will be different this timeline. Maybe-

<Yeah right xp I can't imagine you ever doing anything bad->

Papyrus smiles at the screen. 'You have no idea...' He thinks.

Another message pops up immediately following the previous one.

<Anyway, about last night's show!>

Right... Papyrus relaxes into the chair, ignores the dull ache at the bottom of his spine.

Why does he still hope things can be different?

Maybe he's an idiot after all.

* * *

He opens his eyes with a gasp, familiar ceiling through terribly blurred vision.

He died again...

He gets out of bed immediately this time. Because if he doesn't, he knows he won't be able to.

He wants to lay there forever...

But he can't. He's not like Sans.

His computer screen is on. He looks at it with dull awareness.

<ALPHYS has accepted CoolSkeleton95's friend request>

It's good to know that some things never change.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are appreciated.
> 
> Also, hit me up on tumblr: http://sharada-n.tumblr.com/  
> Some really cool stuff goes down there...


	7. What he does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention it in the previous chapter, but the amazing [Fonyxion](http://fonyxion.tumblr.com/) made some fanart for this fic! You can find it [here](http://fonyxion.tumblr.com/post/145000326911/my-top-5-favorite-papyrus-centric-fanfics) and [here](http://fonyxion.tumblr.com/post/145200846016/sharada-ns-latest-chapter-in-remembrance-got-my) . Check out their other work to, because it's great.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

It's a human saying. And while the technicalities quite elude him, Papyrus has to agree with the mentality behind it.

Being trapped in a never-ending cycle of horrible events, completely at the whim of a human child's fickle moods and unable to do anything about it might sound like a true nightmare.

But you have to take the good with the bad, so that's just what Papyrus does.

* * *

The Underground doesn't have a lot of holidays. Both the royal wedding as well as the birth of Prince Asriel used to be celebrated yearly by monsters en masse, but for obvious reasons, these customs have since fallen away.

But there are some local festivities still in place, and in Snowdin, they have the Giftfest.

While the origin has long been lost to the eons of history, and nobody is quite sure anymore why there are trees or brightly colored lights involved, there really is little point in complaining about getting presents from others.

One _could_ complain about the logic behind baking cookies and leaving them out on the table for the entire night, only for them to end up dry and unappetizing in the morning, but Papyrus learned to let that one go.

Besides, Sans usually eats them after all, slob that he is, so it wasn't a complete waste.

But the important part of the Giftfest is, much as the name implies, the gifts.

Young children, the ones who still wear stripes on a daily basis, write letters dictating what they want and demanding it be delivered just so, by a mysterious monster named Santa.

Adults know better, of course.

Papyrus still writes a letter every year, despite his lack of striped garments. Making Sans happy is more important than his own perceived maturity.

It's just what he does.

Getting Sans his present is where the real fun begins.

When stuck in an endless loop of repeating activity, there are only two things you can do to interrupt the monotony of your existence.

Either you try and break the cycle, with his brother's forever broken machine as the testament on how well that has been working out for them so far.

Or you take comfort in switching up the little things.

When Papyrus wakes at the start of a brand new timeline, it is always exactly one week before the Giftfest. And in these couple of days preceding the human's arrival, the brothers buy each other gifts.

Sometimes, they are forgotten under the tree, covered in snow and dust amidst a silent town that was once full of life.

Sometimes, they are hurriedly shoved in a closet, pushed away deep down as if somehow this would make death less real.

Sometimes, they are neglected entirely, their recipients too caught up in ruling a kingdom or not falling down.

But often, they are opened, in various places and circumstances, the mood tense or relieved or just faked happy.

~~Once or twice, they are opened on the surface, sitting on a blanket in the sun with the smell of fresh air and just thinking about it makes Papyrus ill, preferring not to dwell on it.~~

Papyrus gets the exact same thing every time.

He is great at not acting disappointed. He's even greater at acting surprised.

But in the back of his mind he thinks about apathy, about the vacant look in his brother's eyes and the unnerving realization that Sans doesn't care anymore.

Sans doesn't care about anything anymore.

Which means Papyrus will simply have to care enough for the both of them.

It's just what he does.

He tries to get something different each occasion. Which is hard, given the Underground's limited resources, but he manages.

He puts whatever it is this time in a small carton box and wraps it up expertly, the Great Papyrus does not do things by halves after all, so it looks the same every reset.

And then he waits and waits and wonders if Sans will get to see his surprise this timeline, or if he'll die instead.

It's just what he does.

Sans rips at the paper, has no respect for the artistic craftsmanship on full display before him, but Papyrus can forgive him when he sees how his brother's eyes practically (and literally) light up.

Everything is the same every single time. You start to wonder if maybe you're just stuck with no way out. And then something _is_ different.

Sans looks at him then, much the same way as Flowey looked at him way back, those first few times when Papyrus displayed his knowledge of the resets, when it was just the two of them and suffering.

When everything is so horribly anticipated, unpredictability is the true treasure. And Papyrus is the most unpredictable of them all.

He swallows and tries not to think about the paradox of putting your trust in someone who has killed you more times than you can count.

It's just what he does.

He can practically see his brother dismiss the thought. Detachment can cloud even the best of judgements, and Sans is not the same person he was back when they we're fresh and hopeful and unrepeating.

Papyrus has mourned that loss timelines ago.

But he takes pride in still being able to startle his brother despite everything.

It's just what he does.

* * *

Once the human comes, he's stuck. Going through the motions, reiterating his lines until he's pretty sure they know them by heart.

Every action prompting a reaction he has seen a million times before, with only so much diversity in who will sit the throne this time.

Who will die and who will live and who will suffer.

It's just what he does.

Forever waiting for something to change.

Wondering if he could even handle it if it does.

Or maybe, it would just cause a major system malfunction. Like a machine suddenly receiving an input it's not programmed to recognize.

Breaking down completely.

It's just what he does.

In the meantime, he'll be waiting.

Waiting for death.

Making lemonade.

It's just what he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to everybody who bothered to comment. You guys give me life.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: sharada-n


	8. 365 Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Undertale turned one year old today. I don't think there's a more fitting moment to end this fic then right now. Ladies and Gents: the last chapter of Remembrance

There's a calendar he keeps under his pillow.

It's not too big, and it has pictures on it depicting landscapes from all across the world. Vast oceans and desolate plains. A scorching desert and a snowy mountain top.

Papyrus likes looking at them a lot. Especially considering these are now more than just images beyond his reach, but rather things he might someday see for himself.

It's a nice thought, even if he doesn't really believe it.

And every morning, when he opens his eyes and sees sunlight pouring in through his window, he rolls around and grabs the calendar and a pen.

And marks another day.

16 crosses in neat little rows. He stares at them and wonders how long they will last.

* * *

The surface is a lot brighter and livelier than Snowdin ever was. It's also a lot louder.

People sometimes accused him and Undyne of making too much noise, but now there are cars and planes and humans.

A vast amount of humans.

Papyrus isn't very great with people.

He's not as good as Sans at making conversation. He's not as easygoing as Undyne when meeting strangers. He's not as smart as Alphys or as kind as Toriel or as brave as Asgore.

He's just Papyrus. He doesn't have any friends.

So instead, he concentrates on the fact that none of these people will remember him anyway.

63 crosses in neat little rows. He stares at them and wonders if it has been a good run.

* * *

Big crowds unsettle him, so Papyrus spends a lot of time at home. He cleans and cooks and occupies himself around the house.

A lot more people come by, so he's rarely as lonely anymore.

Sometimes he fiddles with puzzles or jots down quick sketches for traps. Some are pretty good and he ponders if he could use them in a next timeline.

Sans isn't home too often. He has classes and a job, leaving early in the morning and coming home late. He's a lot more active now, but besides that, it doesn't seem like anything has changed.

Despite everything, nothing has really changed.

97 crosses in neat little rows and Papyrus wonders how long it will take for him to break.

* * *

Gold can buy a lot on the surface, Papyrus finds. He likes passing the windows and peeking at all the stuff humans have made.

They sure are a resourceful bunch.

He wonders at displays of colorful clothing in all varieties. So many different kinds it almost seems impossible.

Somebody asks him why he's still wearing his battle body.

Papyrus stops. He fiddles with his scarf and tries not to feel it brush against his vertebrae. He explains to them that without his armor, he would hardly be the Great Papyrus, now would he?

They seem satisfied with this answer.

Of course they would be. It's the truth after all.

Without, he would just be himself.

And Papyrus has no idea who that is.

146 crosses in neat little rows. Papyrus stares at them and wonders how many more lies he will have to tell.

* * *

Everybody around him gets happier each day.

Papyrus wants to feel happy with them, he really does.

But there is an aching emptiness inside them as he watches them build their lives.

Ignorance is bliss.

Sans is hesitant also, but Papyrus can tell he tries.

He's trying so hard that it's almost killing Papyrus to watch, knowing all too well his brother's vacant expression when eventually-

He breathes and scratches at his arms. Hopefully it will be over soon.

187 crosses in neat little rows. Papyrus stares at them and wonders how much longer this will take.

* * *

He doesn't know what he wants.

He doesn't know what he was or what he is or what he will become.

The unknown scares him because it brings hope and hope brings pain when it's inevitably crushed.

Papyrus thought he got over this a handful of resets ago, but apparently he's wrong.

There are sharp objects everywhere, always lurking in his peripheral vision, and he feels the cut that detaches skull from spine as if it happened yesterday.

In a way it may have.

Any moment now. Any moment.

229 crosses in a neat little row. Papyrus stares at them and wonders if they ever made it this far before.

* * *

Sometimes he just tears down.

It's a long walk but Papyrus has made it before, up the slope and through the trees. He stares down the dark abyss and tries to gauge if it would kill him should he jump?

Obviously, the human seemed to survive well enough, but monsters are so much more fragile.

And just imagine his dust scattered across those pretty yellow flowers. Wouldn't that be a sight?

He dispels the thought and sits down instead.

Everybody is so happy and maybe he's just selfish not to share their satisfaction.

But Papyrus is tired and scared and undetermined.

He misses his best friend.

Flowey has gone of to sulk somewhere. Papyrus wants to see him again soon.

He wants to go back soon.

278 crosses in neat little rows. Papyrus stares at them and wonders when he started to feel again.

* * *

Sans is smiling at breakfast and telling him something important.

Papyrus knows he should be paying attention.

But instead, he is staring at the oatmeal in his bowl and contemplating whether it would be feasible to drown himself in it.

He figures it would probably be too shallow. And the lack of lungs might pose a challenge too.

He has started to recognize the thrumming in his heart and is incredibly displeased.

Hope.

Maybe this time things will stick. Maybe he's just a fool.

318 crosses in neat little rows. Papyrus stares at them and wonders why he's still such an idiot.

* * *

Heat starts to fade and leaves start to drop from their perched spots.

Papyrus is considering if he should fall too.

When the human comes, he tells them.

They are not surprised. He did not expect them to be.

They give him a promise.

Papyrus wants to say that he doesn't believe them.

Can't believe them.

But he knows he does.

358 crosses in neat little rows. Papyrus stares at them and wonders if the time will ever be right.

* * *

There is going to be a celebration. Grillby's new bar has been thriving with monsters and humans alike, but tonight it will be a private gathering.

Nobody will have to work today either.

Instead, they'll talk and reminisce and marvel over the fact that it has been so long.

Some of them can barely remember what it was like being trapped underground anymore.

Papyrus knows he will never forget.

365 crosses in neat little rows. Papyrus stares at them and wonders if he's making a terrible mistake.

* * *

The house is silent and the wooden stairs creak under his boots.

When he moves into the kitchen, Sans is there, slippered feet on the table next to a bottle of ketchup. It's so much like back then, that Papyrus feels his head spin.

But he can catch just a glimpse of blue sky through their open window, fluffy clouds and dazzling sun and it's been a year.

It's been a whole year.

Papyrus can't remember the last time he felt so alive.

Sans glances at him over the edges of his newspaper, the science pages, with obvious confusion. "Need something, bro?"

He looks relaxed and comfortable and Papyrus feels like crying.

He knows this will make Sans unhappy.

But he also knows that if he doesn't say it now, he never will and it will never stop.

The breaking will continue until there's only dust.

So he mechanically makes his way over to the table, braces himself against the back of a chair as if he will keel over if he doesn't.

He can hear the sounds of birds whistling outside.

The human has promised him it will never happen again.

And maybe against better judgement, Papyrus still believes in them.

"Sans. I need to tell you something important now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it. Once more, I wish to thank all my lovely readers. Special thanks to all the kudos, for keeping me motivated. and SPECIAL special thanks to the commenters. Getting feedback on your work is every writer's favorite thing.
> 
> And a shout-out to the lovely people over on the Pap-Chat for helping me to keep writing when things got harder and just generally being awesome folks.
> 
> The ending of this story originally was a lot worse, but they convinced me to go for the bittersweet approach, and I'm happy with how it turned out.
> 
> I will probably post the 'bad end' version on [my tumblr](http://sharada-n.tumblr.com/) soon, so if you're interested in that, my other stories, or just want to contact me in general, please find me there.


	9. GAME OVER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I decided to post the ' bad ending' on here too, just for the heck of it. This is not canon for the Remembrance Verse, but just in case anybody wanted more angst!

When it happens, they have been going for 967 days and counting. He still keeps his calendar.

Sans smiles a lot more these days. He also sleeps a lot less.

Papyrus doesn't deal too well with change, but he'll make an exception when it comes to his brothers happiness.

Telling him was probably the hardest thing Papyrus has ever done, and the only consolation was the promise that things could only go uphill from here on out.

And for a while, this rang true.

There are a lot of new things to try out. Food to taste and sights to see, barely enough hours in a day to get them done when he finally allows himself to enjoy them.

There is a school that gets build and houses and then there are weddings and grand openings. 523 days after the barrier broke, the first monster to be born on the surface in several centuries comes into the world.

There are four seasons now and all kinds of weathers that didn't even exist underground and everything is unfamiliar and fresh.

Though some might say it's a bit early, preparations are already being made in celebration of the 1000 day mark.

It's going to be amazing.

Papyrus should have known good things never last.

* * *

He wakes up, and stares at the ceiling. It's too dark.

He has become so accustomed to waking up to sunshine through his windows, that it takes him a little while to realize it's not the middle of the night.

He blinks and wonders why everything feels so different. Rolling over, he realizes it's because his bed is facing the wrong way. Because his desk is standing against the wrong wall. Because his curtains are the wrong color.

It's not a shock.

There is no sound that comes out. No startled comprehension or sudden terror.

Just a heavy feeling of resignation. A numbing sense of acceptance that engulfs his soul and leaves it feeling empty and cold.

He is such an idiot.

Slowly, Papyrus gets out of bed. Sans is still sleeping, and he doesn't want to be here when he wakes up.

He doesn't want to be here at all anymore.

But he knows just the solution to that.

He enjoys the bittersweet agony of being in their old home again for a little while. Runs a hand along the worn green fabric of their couch.

Then he puts on his boots, tries to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of wearing them again after all this time, and opens their front door.

It's snowing again. It always is on that first morning. Why is he surprised he still remembers that?

For what will definitely be the last time, Papyrus leaves the town of Snowdin behind him.

* * *

He's a lot smarter than people give him credit for.

Too much information might confuse him, and math has never been his strongest point, but Papyrus knows how thermodynamics work.

He knows about heat conversion and entropy and the conservation of energy.

He knows how The Core functions.

And he knows what might happen should he fall in there.

Monsters are just energy after all.

Just like heat. Or like time.

A constant stream of energy with no way of escape.

Except this.

Staring into the blazing red bellow, he wonders if he should have written a note. Should have tried to explain to Sans how tired he is.

How hard it is to enact a role that wears you down with each day. How painful it is to exist.

But he has a distinct feeling his brother already knows about all this.

The fall will be deep, but once he gets there, he'll barely feel a thing. He's sure of it.

Everything will simply end.

The same cycle, over and over, and nothing ever changes.

Except for one thing.

Papyrus has stopped believing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last time: thank you for reading and commenting. I hope you have a great day!


End file.
